A/N: The Russian isn't meant to be accurate; just a representation of what it might sound like through Steve's somewhat-off hearing.
A/N: Also, contains whump.
Steve jerked as the gun went off, wincing as the blast roared painfully in his sensitive ears. Behind his eyes, an angry headache, now exacerbated, pounded against his skull. He swayed, his sense of balance disrupted, but miraculously remained upright. Blinking in surprise, he realized the man had turned away the gun at the last second and the bullet had struck the black granite floor near his feet.
Discarding the mask, the Russian grabbed Steve's face again, his dark eyes flickering back and forth as he studied the SEAL intently. "You are in luck," the man finally scowled. "I think you know exactly what I am looking for, and I think you know exactly where it is."
Steve shook his head. "I don't know."
The man struck him hard, his fist cutting Steve's cheek across his teeth. "Where is it?"
Steve winced and sucked the blood from his mouth, spitting it onto the floor. "Still don't know," he mumbled through swelling lips.
The man struck again, this time in the stomach, and Steve felt the air rush from his lungs. He lurched forward, held upright only by the men holding him.
"Well?" The Russian lifted his head by Steve's hair and lightly slapped his already-bruised cheek. "Where is it?"
Steve winced. "Supposed to be… on the horse," he wheezed out, finally giving in to the urge to cough. In his periphery, he saw someone approaching with the infamous animal.
"My men have searched the horse. It's not there."
Already? Shit. "Maybe… maybe it's inside the horse," he offered, trying to buy time.
But the man's frown only deepened. Shouting something in Russian, he gestured at the glass doors and then at the horse. The men holding Steve lifted him and propelled him bodily forward as he tried to hobble along on his left leg.
"I'll give you a few minutes to rethink your answer," the man called after them.
The stinging intensified and the burning sensation filled Steve's nostrils as they approached the clouded hallway, but he was powerless to fight the men off. Just before the doors were opened, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
The next moment, he was thrown into the smoke. Eyes clenched tight, he fell to the floor and lay there, trying not to move or breathe.
But he couldn't hold his breath forever.
…
Danny wandered across the grass and under the trees, dodging in and out of the yellow tape before he finally found the colonel again. Steve's annoying little friend, Danny nicknamed him in his head. He'd thought of other words for the man, but they would require putting all his money in Grace's Swear Jar.
Danny had checked on Jerry and the governor, per Thule's instructions, and having obtained an official release from his protective duties, he now returned to see what happened next. "So." Danny rubbed his hands together and looked around what was apparently the military's command post on the perimeter. "What's the plan?"
"The plan is for you to stay here and protect the governor."
"What, while you storm the building and get my partner out?" Danny snorted. "Not going to happen."
"You were assigned to protect him, or?" the colonel asked with a raised eyebrow.
"My job was to get him out of the building. He's with his own people now," Danny said and gestured to another part of the lawn where a cluster of dark suits had gathered around the governor's motorcade.
"What about your friend? The larger man, with the curly hair?"
"Jerry? He's fine." He wasn't fine, actually- the 'special consultant' was panicked about losing precious data stored on the hard drives in his basement office and had begged a laptop off an officer in the HPD van in order to try to log in remotely. Unable to stand Jerry's jittery nervousness but also satisfied that he was occupied and out of the way, Danny had left him to it. "I want in on whatever you're planning."
"Not going to happen, Detective."
"Steve is my partner, colonel. Don't you army types say 'no man left behind' and all that?"
"Didn't realize you were in the army, Mr. Williams."
Danny flushed at the subtle blow. "It's Detective Williams."
"Look, Detective- I've seen the footage from the parking lot. I saw you come out of the building and almost fall over coughing. You clearly don't have a high tolerance for smoke and tear gas, and that makes you a liability, not an asset, on any op we conduct here today."
"Fine." Technically, Danny's troubles with the tear gas were Thule's fault, but he had no desire to nitpick the details at this point. "I'll just go in by myself."
"Then I'll have you detained."
Danny stopped as he saw two burly MPs suddenly stand up beside the colonel. "Seriously?"
"Detective, you may not believe this, but we are doing everything that we can do to rescue the Commander, as fast as we can do it. Trust me: I have a plan to rescue your friend. And I will tell you what that plan is. But if you run in there right now, you will be signing Commander McGarrett's death sentence and likely your own."
Danny swallowed.
"Take a seat in there," Colonel Thule continued, gesturing to a surveillance van that had pulled up a few minutes ago. "You can watch everything from in there. I'll be back in a few minutes."
…
How much time had passed? Five minutes? Ten? Maybe it was only two. All Steve knew was that he couldn't breathe and he was in absolute agony. He had experienced tear gas before, mostly during training exercises. In one scenario, he and a group of other young recruits had been ushered into a concrete block building where they had removed their masks and chanted their names, serial numbers, and some other miscellaneous information together. It had burned like hell then and he had emerged with the rest, coughing and spitting and hacking, running for the showers as he tried to beat the stuff out of his clothes.
There hadn't even been much gas in the room. The mist was barely discernable.
Now, curled in a fetal position on the cold floor outside the Five-0 offices, Steve tried to call on every ounce of training he had received. His lungs ached from coughing, snot ran freely from his nose, and red-eyed tears streamed down his face. His throat burned from vomit, one of the many unpleasant side effects of the intense coughing. He ducked his head into his shirt to block some of the fumes, but too much had already been absorbed by his clothes. His guards stood over him, taking turns kicking him when he rolled too far in either direction.
Steve wanted to attack, but he could barely get enough oxygen to stay conscious, much less pick himself up and take on his two heavily-armed guards. He wheezed, trying to calm his panicked gasps, but inhaled snot instead. Immediately, he choked, heaved, and vomited the rest of his lunch down the front of his tac vest, dripping onto the floor.
Steve rolled away from the mess and tried to push himself onto his knees. One of the soldiers kicked him and he fell sideways, unwillingly landing on his damaged right leg. As he gasped in pain, the doors opened and the leader returned.
"On yeshche tebe skazal?" His voice was muffled through the gas mask.
"Nyet."
A heavy boot tapped Steve's face. "Where is the thumb drive?" the man asked.
Unable to respond, Steve simply shook his head.
"WHERE IS IT?" the man demanded.
Choking on the gas, Steve tried to gesture as he shook his head again.
The man said something else that Steve couldn't quite hear. Then Steve was grasped under the arms and pulled down the hallway toward the stairs. He made no attempt to help but allowed himself to be dragged forward by the soldiers who heaved his limp form down the darkened stairwell, his right leg protesting every bump and jolt.
He didn't even have the energy to be disgusted with himself as he alternatively hacked and dry heaved, his head hanging forward, leaving a trail of saliva and bile dripping from his chin and clothes. All he could do inhale, exhale, and stay conscious.
"Tam, tam."
A door opened and Steve was pushed into the locker room and shoved into one of the showers. Cold water burst from the shower head and Steve lifted his face into the spray. Blinking, he coughed violently as the gas was expelled from his lungs.
"Good, good. Get it all out." The leader stood just beyond the water, watching. "Nice, deep breaths."
Steve ignored him and simply turned in a slow circle until his clothes were thoroughly soaked, allowing the gas and any other chemicals to wash away. He was disappointed when a heavy arm reached in front of him and seized the knob, turning the water off.
The leader had discarded his fireman's disguise and was clothed entirely in black tactical gear that Steve recognized as being distinctly Russian. "You may call be Sergei," he said. "What is your name?"
Steve didn't reply.
"What- is- your- name?" Sergei, repeated.
Steve sucked up a wad of phlegm and spat it on the tiled floor in response.
Immediately, one of the soldiers struck him in the side with the butt of his rifle. Steve stumbled, falling against the shower wall.
Motioning the soldier back, Sergei stepped into the shower with him. "I do not have much time, so do not anger me. You know where the thumb drive is."
"Not… going to… tell you," Steve managed and braced for the next blow. He was surprised when Sergei chuckled softly.
"Undress."
Steve blinked, unsure he'd heard properly. "What?"
"Undress," Sergei repeated, gesturing to his clothing.
"No thanks." Steve didn't need any training to hear the threat behind his words. "I'm fine," he insisted.
Sergei made a derisive noise in the back of his throat. "I wasn't asking." Calling two of his men, they pulled Steve out, quickly stripped him down to his boxers, and cuffed his hands behind him. As the flipped him over, the large bruise on Steve's thigh stood out harshly.
"Eeh!" Sergei murmured in sympathy. "The horse did this?"
Steve made no response.
Sergei prodded it, not very gently.
Steve hissed.
The other man smiled. "I think it hurts, no? But it is not broken. Not yet." Giving a signal, he stood back and Steve was thrown into the shower and the water turned on once more.
Not yet. The words hung heavily over Steve as he knelt on the tiled floor under the spray. As the water washed the final trace of chemicals away, his breaths had gradually calmed and the intense hacking subsided to a manageable cough, but his relief was short-lived.
One of the soldiers, apparently returning from the break room upstirs, appeared with a large bucket and dumped several gallons of ice and water over Steve's head.
Steve gasped, ducking as the chunks of rough ice crashed over his naked back and scattered across the floor. Jaw tightening, he forced away a shiver and tried to push the mass of ice toward the drain. Instead, he found himself suddenly facedown on the floor, his head pressed into the frigid slush as a heavy knee ground into his back.
"Nyet!" the man growled at him. Someone else wadded up a towel and covered the drain, and the icy water pooled between the tile walls. "You tell Sergei where thumb drive is," the man said in broken English and gave Steve a rough shake.
"Not gonna happen," Steve grunted. He twisted his head, struggling to keep his mouth out of the rapidly-collecting water.
"Tell where the horse is!"
Steve made no response.
Sergei seemed not to notice the exchange. His attention was otherwise occupied with Steve's clothes, which he padded through with discernable interest. Discarding the Five-0 commander's weapons, he now pulled Steve's wallet from one pocket of the cargo pants and began rifling through the cards.
"Lieutenant Commander Steven McGarrett," he read slowly off one of the cards.
Steve ignored him and focused on breathing as the man on top of him bore down with his full weight. A slight movement to alleviate his discomfort was met with a sharp dig in his side by the man's boot and elicited a pained grunt from his captive. Steve stilled.
"Navy reserve." Sergei flipped through the wallet items, discarding those of lesser interest on the floor. "Head of Five-0 Task Force."
Steve blinked away the small spots that appeared in his vision. Water trickled into his open mouth as he panted for air, and rippled out again with every exhale.
"US Navy SEAL."
Steve turned his head slightly, just enough to see Sergei in his periphery. Sergei was studying him closely, his eyes alight with dangerous interest, and a low chuckle escaped his throat as he tossed both the wallet and cards to one side. Gesturing for the water to be turned off, he stepped into the shower with Steve and stood over him.
"A Navy SEAL, running a police task force," he leered. "I knew you were something more than the average, fat American detective, but a SEAL?" He gave Steve's injured leg a deliberate nudge. "Where is the USB drive?"
"I don't… I don't know what that is," Steve wheezed.
"I think you do." Sergei walked around him slowly, relishing his prisoner's helplessness and the uncomfortably close confines of the tiled walls. "You are Navy SEAL. This is no coincidence that you are here, today, with this horse. Where is the drive?"
"I don't know." Steve expected to be beaten at this point, but the blows did not come. Instead, Sergei circled again, nudging him repeatedly with his feet. Stopping by Steve's head, he planted one boot on Steve's cheek, pressing his face against the floor. In his periphery, Steve saw the soldier on top of him grinning. He was playing with him, Steve realized, prodding, looking for weaknesses. The cat with its mouse. Sergei pressed harder and Steve closed his eyes under the mounting pressure.
"Where is it?"
"I… don't… know…" Each word hurt to speak. He inhaled with great effort as he struggled to lift the man on top of him. "Don't know… what… it is."
"You don't know, you don't know…" Sergei lifted his foot and crouched next to him, his face inches above Steve's own. "You are a very bad liar," he hissed. "Why is there a horse in your office?"
Steve made no response.
Sergei pulled out a knife. "I am running out of patience." He dragged the blade slowly along Steve's cheek. A thin line of blood welled along the cut. "Tell me where the drive is, and I promise your death will be quick and painless."
Steve winced, blinking as some of the blood trickled into his eyes. The man's breath was hot and sour as he breathed in Steve's face, his knife pricking as it travelled down to Steve's chin.
"Well?"
"N… no."
"No?" Sergei's mouth twitched unpleasantly when Steve confirmed his answer with the slightest shake of his head. Standing, he motioned to the man on top of Steve. The soldier immediately stood and yanked Steve to his feet. A sudden, sharp blow to Steve's midsection caused him to double over, gasping. The soldier pulled him upright and held him tightly in place as several more blows were delivered in quick succession. Then Sergei seized his neck, smacking his head against the wall.
"WHERE IS THE DRIVE?" he demanded, giving Steve a rough shake as his hand closed over Steve's throat.
Steve wheezed, struggling for air.
"WHERE. IS. IT?" Sergei squeezed tighter.
Black spots appeared in Steve's vision. "Can't… tell you… if…" but Steve couldn't finish. 'if you kill me,' was left unsaid.
…
A 'few' minutes had come and gone and Danny was tired of waiting. Steve could be dead by now, or bleeding out, or being tortured, or … but Danny didn't want to think about the or. Sitting in the back of the van and eyeing the monitors, he heaved a weary sigh and checked his watch. The 'few' minutes had turned into fifteen and were now approaching twenty, but the colonel had yet to reappear. There was very little of interest to see on the various screens at the moment- just the same smoky view of the Palace and a few body cams from snipers around the perimeter. No movement had been seen or heard inside the Palace since the firemen exited, and calls over the bullhorn had gone unanswered.
The wait was long and tedious and Danny hated absolutely every minute of it. If this was how Steve felt on a regular basis with 'normal' police work, then it was no wonder the man was so aggravating. Danny adjusted the gun on his belt out of habit and shifted slightly so that his back rested against a slightly more comfortable part of the metal siding in the truck, directing his attention to a new movement in one of the frames. The lone camera on the left showed a staging area where the SWAT team had arrived and was beginning to suit up.
Danny bit his lip and chuffed an impatient sound. It was taking them much too long to prepare, in his opinion. If Steve were in charge, the raid would have taken place fifteen minutes ago. They would be in and out by now. He watched as the men slowly- or so it seemed to him- donned their protective gear and checked their weapons.
Any time now, he huffed under his breath. Just hurry up. But the tension was too much; he couldn't sit here any longer.
He stood up from his seat. The other man in the truck immediately stood up, too.
Danny stretched.
The other man watched him cautiously.
Danny reached for the door. "Gonna get some fresh air," he said casually and stepped outside. He made sure to stand right in front of the truck's rear surveillance camera.
Look at me: I'm being a good boy, he thought as he paced back and forth on the grass. I'm not running off and storming the Palace all by myself like SuperSEAL would have done. I'm doing exactly what the Colonel wants me to do- absolutely nothing.
Of course, with the number of cameras in the area, it didn't matter. The man in the truck- his babysitter- could see him almost anywhere he went. For a while, Danny lounged around the area immediately outside, making small talk with a few officers and watching bystanders milling about near the police tape. He quickly ran out of things to do, however, and soon found himself grasping for a reason to stay outside the truck when the colonel had ordered him, in no uncertain terms, to stay inside.
Then his phone buzzed.
"Hey Monkey!" Danny's face brightened as the excited voice of his daughter filled the earpiece. "How are you?" He swung around and meandered away from the truck, phone clutched to his ear. "No, I'm not at the beach, silly. Why on earth would I be at the beach?... Oh. No, I think that's just the wind. I'm outside at work and it's very windy, but you're right- I would not go surfing without Uncle Steve. … Where is Uncle Steve? He's not really here right now. I mean, he is, but he can't come to the phone." Danny cast a glance at the white stone building across the lawn. "What if I have him call you when he gets a chance?"
Danny looked at the building again and realized with surprise that he had moved nearly 50 yards away from the surveillance van without realizing it. A quick glance at the van's door revealed his young 'babysitter' busily chatting with one of the colonel's lackeys. Danny snorted. Millennials, he chortled silently. Then a plan came to mind.
"So, Gracie- tell me about Vegas. What have you been up to?"
His daughter was more than happy to tell her father about her week away with Charlie and Mommy, and Danny was pleased to hear that, while Step-Stan had been present at least part of the time, he played such a minor role that his name hardly came up at all. While Grace chattered away, Danny roamed the space behind the yellow line, drifting away from the truck, then back slightly, then turning in a circle, stopping, moving again. With each round of seemingly-random movement, however, he ended a few yards closer to his actual target: SWAT. Grover might not be around this week, but Danny knew the guys and they knew him. He could approach the truck without question. He also happened to know that a spare set of armor and gear could be found in the storage locker behind the driver's seat.
Danny made another loop across the grass and gained another few yards on the truck.
He intended to get that gear.
A/N: Danny doesn't get to be a hero often enough, which is really a shame. I love the episode where he escapes from the CIA and meets Steve at the helicopter. We need more of that Danny. Trying to write that without Danny being AU is tricky, though. Enjoy and have a great weekend!